


To hunt a tiger

by Alhendra



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:05:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1495954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alhendra/pseuds/Alhendra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No man ever really changes. Sebastian Moran is back in London, and still hunting tigers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To hunt a tiger

**Author's Note:**

> A great big thank you to [Aconissa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aconissa/pseuds/Aconissa) for betaing this! Any remaining mistakes are all mine.

The lights of the brothel were low, bright enough to display and titillate, yet dim enough to gloss over the imperfections of its wares. Not that they needed to, Sebastian had to admit to himself. The girls on display were as diverse as the fish in the sea – their skin varying from creamy alabaster to soft chocolate; their hair cropped short, or falling in delicate streams down to their waist, or tumbling in artful curls across bare shoulders; their expressions ranging from timid hesitance, to cheeky invitations, to bold, seductive, gazes. The boys were no less alluring, some delicate and fragile, as if spun of glass, others strong and handsome, with square jaws and muscular arms.

A sea of delectable offers, to be sure. Were it a normal night, Sebastian would have no qualms about taking any of them to bed, seeking adventure nestled between a fair maiden’s curvy breasts, or within a pair of powerful thighs. But he was seeking a very particular thrill tonight, one that no amount of beautiful whores could satisfy.

It had taken him almost a solid two hours of digging his heels in and demanding to see the owner before the madam _finally_ gave up on him either choosing a whore or leaving unsatisfied, and escorted him up the stairs, glaring all the while. Sebastian ignored her in favour of looking around. The first two floors of the brothel he was intimately familiar with, having spent a significant amount of coin within.

But the madam led him up to the third floor, unlocking a small gate to allow them to pass through. The top floor was quieter; the musicians’ notes muted, the sounds of sexual debauchery entirely inaudible. The madam’s heels clicked loudly on the floor as they walked, and she came to a stop halfway down the corridor. She knocked on the door, pulling it open without waiting for a response.

“He’s here, sir,” she said, still looking disapproving. Sebastian stepped through, closing the door casually in her face, and ignored her affronted squawk.

The man he’d been waiting to meet rose from behind his desk at his entry, and Sebastian paused for a moment, taken aback.

The owner of the brothel was _young_ , unexpectedly so. Pale of skin and dark of hair, he could have fit in with any of the brothel’s boys in a selection line-up if he slipped into their costumes and mussed his hair up from its currently slicked back state. At first glance, in his demure doublet and short cape, he reminded Sebastian of a boy playing dress up in his father’s clothing.

“I’m Jim,” the man said, his voice having a pleasant Irish lilt to it. “Laila said you wanted to see me?”

His expression was so open, so curious, that Sebastian wondered for a moment if he’d made a mistake. Surely this _boy_ couldn’t be who he was here for?

“I did,” Sebastian said, narrowing his eyes, stalling for time. Focus. _Think_. Examine all the variables. Weed out the deceptions. Discover the truth. It was always there, even when hidden beneath layers of distractions and lies. All you needed was to cut out the entire fabrications and the not-quite truths from facts, and his eyes had never failed him yet.

Jim’s apparent youth and naivety was distracting him. He turned his head, scanning the room. It was a large chamber, elaborate but mostly tastefully so, quite suitable for the owner of the one of the most successful whorehouses in the city. Two large windows were set into the far wall, thin gauze curtains keeping the darkness outside. Two large metalworked screens were placed in front of the rich, dark, mahogany side walls. The metal gleamed a dull gold in the flickering light shed by the candle-lit chandelier hanging from above. The gleaming loops and whorls gracefully unfurled and extended to the ceiling, their shadows seemingly in constant motion with every candle-flicker.

_Oh._ And there was the truth, carefully hidden but for his sniper’s eyes. Sebastian felt the tension in his back recede, confidence instantly restored. He turned his attention back to the man, who was still staring at him in apparent confusion. “Can I help you?” he said, and Sebastian was seized suddenly with the desire to bite those lips. Oh, he did so like the clever ones, and the smartest tigers always made for the best hunts.

But only amateurs showed their hands immediately and went for the kill shot. He preferred to lull his prey into a false sense of security before lunging for the throat. Sebastian strolled towards the left side of the room – huge enough to host a fucking ball in here, what the hell – studying the metalwork. “Very pretty,” he said, stopping at what seemed to be an elaborate tree with wide spreading branches and globes of crystal apples hanging from the boughs.

“Thank you.”

“Your people promise they can fulfill every fantasy,” Sebastian continued casually, as if he hadn’t just spent the previous two hours waiting for this moment. “But they ain’t hardly cutting it tonight.”

The pained expression sliding onto the man’s face was a thing of beauty, so perfect that Sebastian wanted to applaud. “If you would provide Laila with a more detailed description of your fantasy, I’m sure we can find a way to make it happen. Our people are _very_ good at their job, and we have enough variety to satisfy anyone’s tastes.”

“Any fantasy?” Sebastian asked, still looking at the metalwork, moving slowly around the room.

“Within reason, of course.”

“You mean anyone in this place?”

“Yes. Perhaps you’ve got your eye on Madam Laila?” He sounded amused, and Sebastian snorted.

“Hardly.” The madam, while a fine specimen of an older woman, was extinguished next to the range of nubile young girls ready to please their clients in whatever way they desired.

“Well, then,” the man said, still sounding amused, and sat down again. “I’m sure we can find some way to accommodate you. What exactly are you looking for?”

Sebastian smiled, tearing his gaze away from the decoration and finally fixing them on the owner again. “You.”

The man calling himself Jim blinked once, linking his fingers together and leaning back. “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he said smoothly, instantly remote and detached. “I am not for sale. But I have plenty of boys that will serve your every need, and I promise you won’t leave here unsatisfied.”

“I don’t care about your boys,” Sebastian said, turning to face him properly. “I want _you_.”

“No. But I can promise you a suitable replacement if you’ll just explain exactly what it is about me that you find interesting.”

Sebastian smiled. “You want to know what I find interesting? Sure. The tiger in lamb’s clothing. The man who looks like an angel, but has sold his soul to the devil. The criminal mastermind, the madman, man whose name they whisper only in the darkest of alleys with fear and hesitation, the soulless villain they call _Moriarty_.”

Jim stilled, eyes dark and fathomless for a fraction of a moment, and Sebastian felt his pulse pick up speed, even as Jim’s expression turned confused.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” he said, and Sebastian waved a dismissive hand.

“Please. Save us both some time and drop the act. I am here to talk business and you cannot honestly believe I will fall for it now.”

For a moment, Jim stared at him, open-mouthed and so very young. And then he shifted – Sebastian wasn’t quite sure how – but suddenly in his chair sat a very different man, the look of confusion melting away to be replaced by the dark, intense eyes that Sebastian had only glimpsed earlier.

Sebastian’s blood sang, even as he knew he now treaded dangerous waters, Moriarty’s eyes assessing him much like a predator eyeing prey. “That’s better,” Sebastian said, fingers gripping the metalwork.

“Hi,” Moriarty sang lightly, his eyes anything but. “It seems like my identity has been compromised. Tell me, what gave it away?”

“Now, a man’s got to have _some_ secrets,” Sebastian said, matching his tone for lightness.

“Oh, I _love_ secrets, I’m _so_ very good at sniffing them out,” Moriarty said, smiling. “But that can wait. I’d also like to know why you’re here, because we both know this wasn’t a good idea on your part.”

“I told you, I’m here for you.”

“And here I am,” Moriarty spread his hand in a mocking bow. “Do I live up to your expectations?”

“Exceed them, actually.”

“My, my, how flattering,” Moriarty murmured, leaning back in his chair. “Luckily for you, I find myself in a benevolent mood and will hear you out. What can Moriarty do for you?”

Sebastian grinned, wide and careless. Time for a change of plans. He always was a gambling man, anyway, and there was no thrill like that which came from courting death. “I told you,” he said, sauntering over to the desk and placing both hands flat on it. “I want to _fuck_ you.”

“ _Well_ ,” Moriarty drawled, but Sebastian could tell he’d managed to surprise him. “I do so hate to disappoint, but I don’t put out before the third date. It does beg the question of why you’re _here_ , instead of downstairs, with the boys that are well affordable, for you.”

Sebastian shrugged, eyes not leaving Moriarty’s. He had an idea that doing so could prove fatal, although in truth the man could have him killed ten times over already. “Your toys are very shiny, but worthless. You, now. They say you are the most dangerous man in England – possibly the world – and I like some risk with my conquests.”

“Ah,” Moriarty said, a slow smile creeping across his face. “A power play. Cute. But one that you cannot afford.”

“Who said anything about _affording_ it?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow. Do or die, but no one had ever accused him of letting sense or fear have the best of him. “I’m sorry, did I stutter? I’m not asking you for permission. I _will_ have you, willingly or not.”

“Ooh,” Moriarty sat up, looking intrigued. “And you think you can get _the most dangerous man_ in England or the world against his will, do you?”

“You think your bodyguards are good enough to stop me?” Sebastian smiled indulgently at Moriarty. “Go ahead. Call them. I do like a bit of foreplay.”

Moriarty tilted his head, studying him thoughtfully. “You’re awfully sure of yourself,” he said, but amusement colored his tone.

“With reason. Go on, call them,” Sebastian repeated, leaning over the desk to put his lips right next to Moriarty’s ear. “I will kill them. And then I will fuck you over their corpses, and you will beg me for more,” he breathed.

Moriarty was still, unblinking dark eyes fixed on Sebastian’s own pale ones. He moved his head from side to side in consideration, before reaching under his desk. “Perhaps,” he said lightly. “But you have work to do first, kitten. Don’t disappoint me.”

Sebastian didn’t. The first one that ran through the door ended up with Sebastian’s dagger sinking to the hilt in his chest before he’d taken two steps towards him. He fell to the ground with a gurgle. The others fared little better. Moriarty’s bodyguards were no slouches – they were tough, hard men who knew what they were doing – but he was better, faster, stronger. They came in armed with maces and swords, and he fell upon them, dodging and weaving, a living weapon armed with nothing but his fists. He killed two, and then three, and by the time he was done, nine people lay dead, their blood congealing slowly on the floor.

The sound of clapping brought Sebastian down from his adrenaline high, and he turned to see Moriarty still in his chair, as calm and composed as if he was having tea, rather than seeing his own people being slaughtered in front of him.

“Quite impressive,” Moriarty said. “Although your technique could use some work. You got quite sloppy towards the end.”

Sebastian grinned, stalking towards his prize. Moriarty remained motionless, unresisting even as Sebastian grabbed the front of his expensive silk doublet and dragged him out of his chair, pulling him up to press their lips together.

Moriarty kissed him back, all tongue and teeth, and Sebastian pressed him against his desk, pleased to find an answering hardness against his thigh. He was not the only one drunk on blood and violence. Moriarty broke the kiss to lap at his split lip delicately, humming in pleasure.

“Very good, kitten,” he said approvingly, and Sebastian snorted a laugh. “I’m hardly a kitten,” he said, punctuating his words with a roll of his hips. Moriarty groaned appreciatively, running his hands under Sebastian’s leather jacket, eliciting a hiss out of him when his fingers danced across the gash in his wound, a consequence of a moment of inattention in the previous altercation.

“I told you that you got sloppy towards the end,” Moriarty murmured into his mouth, and then sank his fingers into the wound, tearing it open. Sebastian cried out in surprise, shoving Moriarty’s hand away from his side, and then backhanded him, abruptly cutting off his laughter and sending him sprawling on his back on the desk.

“Can’t handle a bit of pain, kitten?” Moriarty asked mockingly. Sebastain growled, closing his hand around the smooth pale throat and squeezing. He could feel blood oozing from his wound, soaking his dark shirt and he bared his teeth at the sudden pain that even the endorphins couldn’t mask.

“The question is, can you?” he returned, just as mockingly, and tightened his grip. Moriarty’s hands rose reflexively to his throat, and Sebastian used his other hand to grab both wrists and press them to the desk above his head.

With one smooth motion, he released Moriarty’s neck and tore Moriarty’s dark wine doublet open to expose creamy pale skin. Bending down, he lavished attention on his collarbones, alternating between biting hard enough to break skin and then sucking gently until dark bruises formed. Moriarty writhed under him, cursing him and his ancestry, and Sebastian relished every bitten back expletive and profanity.

“Can’t handle a bit of pain, _kitten_?” he mocked him, biting down on his lips as his free hand tore at the fastenings of his breeches. Moriarty moaned as he slid his hand down into his trousers and cupped his hardness, and Sebastian felt a dizzying wave of arousal hit him again.

Losing all patience, he let Moriarty’s wrists go to pull down his breeches. Without ceremony, he forced his legs open, sinking a dry finger into him without further ado. Moriarty hissed, arching his back half-off the desk.

“Not very polite,” he hissed, betraying his words by lifting one leg to rest his ankle on the desk, opening himself even further. Sebastian bent down to lick a stripe up his cock as a reward, sliding another finger inside.

“I’m not here to please _you_ ,” Sebastian said as Moriarty bit down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. “I’d fuck your pretty mouth, let you get me nice and wet, but you don’t play nice, do you?”

Moriarty smirked at that, Sebastian’s blood on his teeth, and then snaked a hand to Sebastian’s side again. Before Sebastian could bat his hand away, he slid his hand under his shirt, pressing slightly, and when he drew away his hand was red with blood.

“Nature’s lubricant,” he said before unbuckling Sebastian’s own breeches, pulling him out and stroking him. Sebastian bucked into his hand, his fingers sinking in and out of Moriarty to the same rhythm.

“I thought you were going to _fuck_ me,” Moriarty drawled,albeit somewhat breathlessly, and Sebastian decided that enough was enough. He pulled his fingers out, and grabbed Moriarty’s pale hips hard enough to leave bruises before pushing himself inside in one swift motion, heedless of any further preparation.

Moriarty keened at the sudden breach, back arching off the desk, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the wooden surface, but Sebastian, buried in tight, glorious heat, gave him no time to adjust. He fucked him hard and fast, slamming inside him solidly enough to shake the desk with every thrust.

It did absolutely nothing to diminish Moriarty’s enjoyment. He writhed under Sebastian, moving his hips to push back at every thrust, and Sebastian found his pleasure spiking fast. “Don’t you _dare_ finish before me,” Moriarty hissed, and Sebastian smirked.

“I don’t give a shit whether you come or not,” he told him. Moriarty snarled at him, fingers dipping lightning fast to his wound, but Sebastian grabbed his wrist and slammed it down to the desk hard enough that something cracked, and Moriarty cried out, suddenly going rigid, eyes wide and glassy, and a few thrusts later Sebastian’s own vision whited out as he fell over the edge.

He collapsed back into Moriarty’s chair, sated and satisfied. Moriarty squawked as he pulled out of him abruptly. “Fuck you,” he hissed, running a hand through his hair, messing it up, much to Sebastian’s pleasure.

“Already did,” he said lazily, basking in his post-coital glow. “Try again.”

“How about…” Moriarty pulled himself off the desk slowly, wincing, favouring his left wrist. A sprain maybe. Without ceremony, he sat down in Sebastian’s lap. Sebastian placed his hands on Moriarty’s waist to steady him, and stilled at the touch of cold steel at his neck. “…this?”

Moriarty’s eyes had gone cold and dark again, all traces of lust, arousal or satisfaction wiped clean off his face. Sebastian had to admire that, even as the cold hand of dread tried – unsuccessfully – to squash his contentment. Fuck it, what a way to go.

“You’re hot and you’re cold,” he sang softly, unmoving.

“I _did_ say no.”

“Your lips said no, your body said _fuck yeah_.”

“Is that it?” Moriarty asked him, sounding bored. “No begging me to spare your worthless life?”

Sebastian shrugged, the motion making the blade dig deeper into his neck, drawing a trickle of blood. “Every man has to die, and this is a hell of a way to go,” he smirked. “Do your worst.”

Moriarty stared at him for a full minute, unblinkingly, twisting his neck from side to side. This place couldn’t be further from the heat sodden streets of India, and yet staring down Moriarty reminded him of nothing less than staring down a tiger in a sewer, knowing that only one of them was making it out alive.

“A smart man would have run to the hills instead of baiting me. A foolish man would have attempted to blackmail me for money or favours. And you wanted a _fuck_. I’m not quite sure what that makes you.”

“What can I say, I’m a simple man with simple tastes,” Sebastian says, enjoying the sight of purple bruises all over Moriarty’s pale skin.

“A simple man with simple tastes,” Moriarty mocked, but his eyes were thoughtful. “But then, you hunt tigers for kicks.”

“You do make a most vicious little tiger,” breathed Sebastian, running his thumb over Moriarty’s hipbone, stilling only when Moriarty’s words sank in properly. “You know of me.”

Moriarty lifted an eyebrow. “Colonel Sebastian Moran,” he said, as if reciting off a report. “Served with distinction at Afghanistan, especially at Kabul. A master tactician and strategist and an exceptional sniper. Also credited with almost single-handedly decimating India’s tiger population for sport. Yes, I know of you.”

“Ah,” Sebastian said, pleased. “Yet you’re the most dangerous tiger I’ve ever hunted.”

“You flatter me,” Moriarty purred, but his pleasure didn’t seem to be faked. “Now, what should I do with you? Seems a shame just to _end_ you, but we can’t have you tattling on daddy, now.”

“Well,” Sebastian said, glancing over Moriarty’s shoulder pointedly. “For a start, you seem to be needing a new bodyguard. Your old ones were shite.”

“Mmm,” Moriarty agreed. “Whatever makes you think I would employ _you_ , after you barged in here and slaughtered my people? I should just kill you.”

Sebastian chuckled. “You won’t kill me.”

“Awfully sure of yourself, kitten.”

“Oh, I’m sure. You could have had your snipers,” Sebastian nodded to the metalwork, behind which dark sniper holes lurked in the wood, difficult to see in between the flickering shadows. “Shoot me any time you wanted, from the moment I stepped in here. But you were curious, and you let me kill your men, and you let me fuck you _because you wanted to_. And if you haven’t killed me yet, you don’t really want to.”

Moriarty stared at him for a moment longer before smirking. “Very good, kitten,” he said, tossing the dagger away and sliding off of Sebastian. “Very good indeed. I do have need of someone of your skills. Consider yourself hired, congratulations.”

“Do I get a reward?” Sebastian asked lazily.

“You just had one. Don’t get too cocky, kitten, I _do_ like you, and I’d hate to have to put a bolt through your eye.”

“Anything I should know about working for you?”

Moriarty tugged his breeches up, smoothing his hair back. “Do what I say, when I say, how I say, and don’t ask questions. Don’t fuck up, don’t fail, and don’t get captured, but if you _do_ , keep your mouth shut. Remember, whatever they do to you, I can do much worse!” he said cheerfully. “Also, don’t sit in my chair.”

Sebastian looked down and then back up at Moriarty before standing up, suppressing a wince at the stab of pain that elicited now that his high was slowly evaporating.

“Good kitten.” Moriarty sat down in his chair again, heedless of the soft cloth which was blood-stained from where Sebastian had bled all over it. “Off you pop. Tell Laila you’re employed now and she’ll take care of you.” He flapped his right hand at Sebastian before rubbing his other wrist absently.

“She won’t like that,” Sebastian smirked to himself, and Moriarty rolled his eyes, amused.

“You’ll be further briefed tomorrow. Oh, and tell Laila to send Hudson up. The smell is only going to get worse if they’re not removed from here immediately,” he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the corpses.

“Sir, yes sir,” Sebastian said, fixing his clothes to look decent.

“Off you go then,” Moriarty said, picking up a paper from his desk and smoothing it out. Sebastian turned away. On reaching the door, he glanced back. Moriarty was watching him, eyes dark, face blank, still rubbing his injured wrist. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, and Sebastian wasted no time in making himself scarce.

He’d possibly gotten himself in over his head this time around.


End file.
